


Kiss Of Stone And Ebon Gaze

by johnny_topside



Category: Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu, ドラキュラII: 呪いの封印 | Castlevania II: Simon's Quest, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania (Video Game 1986), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series, 悪魔城伝説 | Castlevania lll: Dracula's Curse
Genre: Bondage, Crushes, F/M, Gothic, Grant Danasty's Descendant, Masks, Obsessive Behavior, Payoff in the last chapter, Prequel, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Vampire Sex, Vampires, carmilla karnstein - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27237202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnny_topside/pseuds/johnny_topside
Summary: Set in the late 1600's, several years before the first Castlevania, a young man becomes fascinated with a strange, reclusive countess.  As his obsession with her grows deeper his attempts to gain her affections grow more extreme.  When friendship isn’t enough, what will be demanded when the countess finally has what she wants?Four chapters, drawing on the Castlevania video games, the Netflix series, and Le Fanu's Carmilla.  And I guess I'm going for kind of a Roger Corman/Tales from the Crypt thing
Relationships: Carmilla Karnstein & Original Character(s), Carmilla/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2





	Kiss Of Stone And Ebon Gaze

Chapter 1: Woman In White

"I'm not asking for much, just another grosz a night!"

"You'll get your raise when I say and not before." The grave keeper admonished Andrei like a child.

The old man was a sullen, antisocial sort, as was his young assistant. However he'd gone much farther down that road and trying to talk to him about anything other than cemetery happenings was mostly futile. He was withered, gray and pitiless, not unlike one of the leafless trees, and barely acknowledged Andrei as he went about inspecting the shovels and spades.

"I've been at this nearly a year, I've shown I'm reliable." The young man struggled to keep frustration out of his voice, he needed this job. "I-" The old man silenced him by waving a gnarled finger in his face.

"Patience." He turned his back on Andrei, moving on to the business of refilling his lanterns, finished with the subject. Andrei impatiently snatched a full lantern and his walking stick.

"Wish I could say the same thing to my landlord." He muttered, but if the old man heard he didn't show it.

Andrei began his rounds among the sunken markers, stopping occasionally to pull weeds or clinging moss. By the third row the gate squealed on it's ancient hinges as the old man locked up for the night. The orange sun sank into the horizon in a pool of purple clouds and Andrei sighed with contentment. He was finally alone until the sun rose again, and despite his money troubles, he wouldn't trade this aspect of the job for anything in the world. The blessed silence and solitude. Most of Aljiba barely tolerated him and for Andrei the feeling was mutual. It was only three grosz a day, but for him and in a country with as many troubles as Wallachia this was good money. It just wasn't enough. Not when he owed months of back-rent for his hovel of a room, or the seemingly ever increasing debt the old priest who'd raised him held over his head.

Hours passed as he made his rounds until the witching hour. Despite his situation, nothing calmed him more than walking through the silent marble city in starlight. These monuments were for the more well to do corpses. Crowded, rotting wood and anonymous stone markers giving way to large carved headstones, ornate statuary and finally mausoleums. One couldn't escape one's class even in death.

He was acutely attuned to the darkness and being the only living soul in the cemetery. Still, he almost missed the huddled shape beyond the gate to one of the larger mausoleums. If it had been snowing, he might have, but this winter had been mild, and there was no more than a light dusting on the gravestones. His blood froze when he saw the ghostly white figure in the darkness, and he was embarrassed to say his mind immediately leaped to thoughts of unquiet spirits. It didn't appear to be moving, as he squinted he could make out what looked like a shroud. There was a minute movement from it as his foot crunched on the frost beneath. The superstitious fear left him, now he was more concerned with the figure's next move than it's origin. He hesitated, fight or flight pulling him between rushing whoever it was or going to rouse the old groundskeeper.

He'd been given the job more for his skeptical temperament than muscle (and he'd been the only one who wanted it), but it was still his duty to run off troublemakers. Andrei had carved his walking stick himself, leaving a heavy knot at the top as a cudgel, not something you'd bring to a duel but thick enough to clout any wild animals. The worst of the icy dread was gone, and when the being didn't wail or burst into flames, logic prevailed. Screwing up his courage he drew himself up to his full height, unlocked the gate and stepped forward. The lantern fell on the apparition. He expected it to bolt but when the light fell on it the hood only cocked slightly. He took several deliberate steps until he could see up close it was a slim figure in a white cloak, and grew a bit more confident. Whoever, whatever it was, it was smaller than him at least.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" The figure rose and as he raised the lantern higher his breath caught. It was garbed not only in white, but it's face was dead white as well, frozen in a rigor-mortis smile with black, yawning holes where it's eyes should have been. It didn’t move. He raised the lantern yet higher and the chill passed when he was able to make out a shine behind the holes, and the gold decorative leaf that ran along it's temples.

"Aren't you afraid I'm a spirit?" It asked curiously in a coolly amused voice. Andrei scowled, apprehension melting away. It was only a woman in a mask, the clothes weren't moldering rags but a powder blue bodice underneath a white cloak.

"Spirits aren't real, and if they were, they wouldn't wear carnival masks. Is this a joke? Nataly, is that you?"

"Perhaps it's too conceal my ghastly visage. This is a cemetery after all." He continued to peer at her, and when he said nothing she said: "I know of no Nataly." Her voice was rich with refinement, she wasn't from town that much was certain.

"It's well past dusk and you're trespassing. If you were a man I'd clout you in the head and the rest of the town would do worse. Now again, what are you doing here?" The mask sighed.

"I'm paying my respects to an ancestor." It occurred to him this mausoleum was at one time a frequent target for vandals, thus the locked gate. The stonework had been restored at cost, angels sounding trumpets blowing gusts of wind and in the center, a noble woman's smooth impermeable visage.

“How’d you get past the gate?” She reached into her cloak and pulled forth a single key, the twin on Andrei’s ring.

"I'm Countess Carmilla Karnstein. Her great, great, far too great to continue granddaughter." She gestured at the mausoleum. He had the sense she was smiling despite her circumstances. The skepticism must have been evident on his face because she added: "Or I could still just be her ghost."

"Or more likely a witch."

"So you won't believe in ghosts but you believe in witches?"

"I believe they're flesh and blood, and they'd disturb bones and steal handfuls of grave dirt to indulge their make believe." The masked woman sighed again.

"You really are an unrelentingly cynical young man aren't you? I told you the truth before, I'm the current Countess Karnstein. How else would I have this key? I slipped in here after hours because it was the only time I could do so without being disturbed. I apologize for making trouble for you, my intention wasn't to disturb the cemetery. My ancestor was...infamous, and my family continues to pay the price to this day for sharing the name. There are plenty who would stone me for simply laying flowers at this spot, despite my title. Especially for my title."

Andrei nodded at this. There were countless superstitious tales told at the tavern, as a pastime it was a close second to passing rumors of which town virgin was having a tryst with which fat drunk. This one he happened to remember. Mircalla was dubbed the Blood Countess, and she alternately bathed in blood, sacrificed to the devil or was herself a witch or even vampire depending on the night and how deep in their cups the tale teller was. The mausoleum was well cared for, the money had been set aside for this purpose and Andrei suspected he'd just met the source. Of the family he knew nothing though.

"I didn't know there even were any Karnstein descendants, I thought it was just a story."

"I'm the only one I know of, with title anyway." She paused a moment, then tilted her head and hand respectfully in a kind of formal greeting that he’d never seen. "I apologize for seeming rude. Let’s start again. Countess Carmilla Karnstein." She said deliberately, offering a gloved hand. "If you'd believe me this time that is.” Andrei flushed a little, she’d managed to defuse his suspicion and snub him, and be charming about it all while trespassing in his cemetery. “Your name sir?"

"Andrei Iordan. Grave keeper and lord of the dead." He bowed, taking her hand in what he assumed was a gentlemanly gesture and she lightly chuckled. Most of the town folk had no patience for his morbid jokes but her amusement sounded genuine, maybe a sense of humor only shared by fellow outcasts. Perhaps it was relief that he wasn't going to run her off or that she was just some eccentric noblewoman and not a ghoul, but the conversation came easy to them as he escorted Carmilla back to the cemetery gate.

"It's the mask that startled me. Is it Venetian?"

"A similar style, very clever." The masquerade mask covered Carmilla's face entirely, appropriately the face of a beautiful girl with a pleased little secretive smile on it's delicately lacquered black lips. It was pearly white with a small amount of gold trim around the eyes to give the appearance of eyeshadow. "You're surprisingly worldly for a grave keeper."

  
“Unfortunately not so much. I'd value an education if I had one, unlike these villagers. May I ask why you wear that mask?"

"You're clearly intelligent Andrei. Why do you think I wear it?" She asked, and he narrowed his eyes in thought. She was testing him, and he didn't want to offend her. The truth was in the fifteen minutes they'd spoken he'd already decided he liked her far more than most of the town.

"It seems to me only a very beautiful or very hideous woman would wear a mask like that, because she doesn’t want attention."

"Nothing in between? Which do you think me?"

"Beautiful." He said earnestly, and she touched her hood like she was coifing her hair. "But if you weren't I wouldn't care." Andrei added hastily, realizing he may have embarrassed himself further.

"Your flattery is refreshing. No, I simply don't want to be recognized, for reasons I'm sure you understand by now. It's usually best not to be known as a Karnstein. There's still plenty of bad blood." Together they reached the gate, unseen an owl presided over their summit, hooting incessantly.

"I appreciate you allowing me to pay my respects Andrei. I should move on before I'm seen by less understanding eyes. Perhaps we'll meet again some night."

"I would...love that." Andrei replied, slightly surprised. "If you gave me some notice I could just let you in next time." When he discovered her she'd been an unwelcome distraction from his rounds, now he was reluctant to see her go.

"That may be awhile. Well, good night. Or should I say, good morning?"

"Carmilla, wait!" He called after she'd gone several steps, and she turned. "How will recognize you? I mean, when we see each other next?"

"You'll recognize me, I'll wear the mask. But..." She hesitated, considering. "I don't travel often. If you wish to see me before then, follow the river beyond town to Laruba Mansion. I stay close to my home most of the year." She tilted her head, a master of elegantly expressing herself for someone without a face. The voice like the whisper of fine silk on gold coin certainly helped. "Till then, it was a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure was all mine lady." He heard himself say as he watched her figure disappear into the mists beyond the cemetery as if she was in fact a spirit. He walked the remaining hours of dark in a similar haze, turning the encounter over and over in his mind like a strange new jewel.

He was unemployed by early morning. It was Andrei's job to report the night's rounds, and the old man listened to his tale of the Countess grimly. He kept the account as dull as possible, just a deeply unpopular noble dressed for masquerade trespassing. Andrei had expected the old man to ask more questions or perhaps berate him, but instead he promptly lost his wits.

"Get out! Get out of my sight right now and never return!"

"There was nothing supernatural about the woman I tell you!" Andrei returned with as much patience as he could muster. "I touched her shoulder before she left, she was as solid as you or I."

"Touched her! You young fool, don't you know anything? You're touched by the devil!" Andrei bit his tongue with all his effort, managing to stop himself from several remarks that would have gotten him fired any other day. He’d had no idea the grave keeper was a closet zealot. Reason had fled the old man's face as well as his mind, and that Andrew couldn't tolerate.

"Well I'm sure the priesthood would love to have an expert like yourself."

"The devil takes all forms, I don't need a priest to tell me that! Now get out you little bastard!"

Andrei's face hardened and for the first time the old man hesitated as if he'd said too much. Maybe it was just a thoughtless word. Andrei's parents had not been married, one of the sources of his many troubles. This started a new line of argument, and soon enough the grave keeper was shrieking at him. The more dignity he lost the angrier Andrei became, and this did not help his case. He continued to try to explain until the old man became deranged and finally threw a lantern at his ex assistant, and Andrei was forced to keep some distance.

"You're finished here, you don't work here, so you have no reason to show your face again!" The grave keeper yelled. "I don't want to see you on the grounds, I don't want to see you outside the gate!" The young man's frustration finally curled up at the edges to reveal bald anger, and Andrei silently swore at himself for telling the old man anything at all. He wouldn't have expected this lunatic reaction if he'd shaken a moldering skull at the old man and uttered a death curse.

"I never expected you to be another superstitious sheep! I've always done all you asked, who will you find to watch your precious graves tonight after you run me off eh?"

"The dead will keep for a few nights! Now go on, get out here! If I see you again I swear I'll clout you!"

"You clout me? Just try it!" Andrei clutched his walking stick tightly, ready for a challenge before he realized the old man wasn't angry but in the grip of some terror that had driven him beyond reason. This only disgusted him even more. "I want my pay! You owe me twenty one grosz!"

"It's eighteen grosz, I'll send someone with your pay, just get gone!"

"Stupid, crazy, gullible old fool!" He shouted as the gate slammed behind him and the old man hurriedly locked it. Andrei looked back every few steps, always the grave keeper watching him with a mixture of revulsion and relief, as if he'd evicted a plague carrying rat. When the old man was a speck in the distance he could still hear the hoarse shout.

  
"There's nothing to fear from the sleeping dead boy! You should fear those who walk! Do yourself a favor and quit Wallachia!"

Spinning around on his heel Andrei gave the old man his most sarcastic bow of thanks, though he doubted he could see it. As if he'd live in this backwater if he had the choice. Peasant wisdom from a man who'd spend the rest of his days among rotted skeletons that couldn't argue the point, Andrei thought bitterly. The grave keeper's prospects of finding anyone else were poor, maybe a few weeks of handling his own cemetery day and night would teach him to appreciate his assistant. He'd be begging to have him back before the end of the month, surely.

Only the old man didn't, and Andrei's attempts to find anything else were wasted effort. He was going on nineteen, but somehow life had already passed him by. He knew he should be making his living by his wits and not his back, but he had no idea how to go about it. For all his reading and careful thought, it seemed he hadn't absorbed anything from those books that anyone was willing to pay him for. The librarian couldn't afford him as an assistant and education was less valuable in Aljiba than a basket of turnips anyway. He couldn't even find work as a book keeper for the merchants in town, and he had no skill or desire to weave or blacksmith, even if someone had been willing to teach him.

He'd even tried logging before. That had been simple enough, and he'd gotten a certain satisfaction out of seeing the trees fall to his axe blows. Still, he could only manage so many trees a day, and each day, he slowed, body tired and aching. While the rest of them did twice, sometimes almost thrice his count, seemingly never flagging. They'd let him go at the end of the second week, and shortly after that he’d found work in the cemetery, like a godsend.

Since his exile from the cemetery, in a month's time, all he’d gained for himself were three days of unloading heavy crates for one of the local merchants. It paid the princely sum of a single grosz for a day of backbreaking work, and when it dried up, it was gone. His prospects seemed a barren wasteland, and it wasn't until one night having a meal at the tavern he figured out why.

Andrei was nursing a modest meal of cabbage roll on the few coins he had left, savoring every bite. If he didn't find something very soon, he'd be foraging for nuts. Nataly, the town barfly plopped herself into a stool next to him.

"Well, well, if it isn't Andrei. Enjoying a sumptuous feast I see." He gave her a sideways glance. She was tolerable in an unremarkable kind of way, blonde, but very annoying. There were certain people in town who wouldn't utter a word to him unless he was the butt of a joke, and she was one of them. Popular among some of the men, he suspected for her breasts, which he could see in their fullness from the generous neckline of her dress. They were already starting to sag a bit from their heaviness. Inwardly, he scoffed, and went back to his cabbage.

"Aww, why don't you talk to me? I'm trying to be nice. Don't you like girls?"

"I just want to enjoy my meal, thanks."

"I heard you met nobility a few weeks ago, I'd love to hear about it. Nothing ever happens around here." Nataly pushed incessantly against him, her ample chest brushed his elbow. He knew better, he really did, but especially now with no prospects he couldn't afford to be the misanthrope they all thought he was. Maybe this was an opportunity to set the record straight.

"I did, yes. Countess Karnstein." A stein fell to the floor and shattered behind the bar. Silence seemed to drop over the tavern, like a stone had been cast in a pond, and then talking gradually resumed. "CARMILLA Karnstein." He stressed. Nataly hadn't laughed yet, she was still looking at him expectantly.

"What was she like?"

"She was..." He struggled, then decided a lie would serve both their reputations better. "She was just a noble, nothing remarkable. Well dressed, well spoken." Nataly was still listening with interest, to his surprise. "Not stuck up at all. Extremely polite."

"I would have never thought." Nataly said, and leaned in close, looking at Andrei with sly eyes and a grin that made him stiffen down there involuntarily. She whispered in his ear, her warm breath tickling. "Did she politely let you bugger her ass for your soul, or did you just settle for the cabbage roll?" Then her hand goosed his groin and he pulled back. falling sideways off the stool onto the hard wood.

His head grazed the floor, the fall giving him a shock and a stitch in his side. Nasty, drunken laughter seemed to assault him from all sides. Wordlessly, he stood up, brushing the squashed remains of his meal from his elbow. Red anger and embarrassment seemed to simultaneously burn his temples and rob his legs of steadiness. Andrei wanted nothing more than to curse them all roundly, but that would have just made the laughter worse. He’d had that experience repeatedly growing up. Nataly had retreated to one of the tables and Andrei was not surprised to see her sitting in the lap of Boian. He was the largest and nastiest of the loggers, and had never missed an opportunity to give Andrei a "friendly" shove about town, even as youths.

He really wanted to describe all the ways Nataly resembled a cow, mentally and physically, but Boian and his friends probably would have thought nothing of introducing his head to the bar. He was not well liked under the best of times, and this, he was coming to realize, was a far sight from those days.

Instead he took a shaky step, then another. A foot jutted out to trip him, and he nimbly stepped over it, before reaching the door. Dimwitted mirth disguising childish fear, or perhaps inadequacy, buffeted his back as he quickly retreated into the cold night.

The feeling of humiliation subsided late afternoon the next day. Andrei hadn't even tried to get up to search for work and slept in, clutching his thin, coarse blanket against the chill and the slings and arrows he’d endured all his life. The landlord woke him up sometime in the afternoon with a rap on his door, letting him know in no uncertain terms he would be evicted by next week if Andrei couldn't pay him. The landlord was of half a mind to evict him that very day, but wanted to maintain an appearance of fairness to the rest of his tenants.

With this in mind, Andrei spent the rest of the afternoon on a hill overlooking the cemetery. This was his thinking spot, far away enough that he was unlikely to be sighted by the elderly grave keeper. He feasted on a quarter loaf of bread hard as stone and a mushy apple. Everyone insisted it had to be cooked, but he’d never had a problem eating them as they were, and it was cheaper besides. He watched the sun traverse the sky. No matter how he'd whipped his mind for an answer, nothing came.

The more well to do women might have looked down their noses at Nataly cavorting about with her tits for all to see, but she may as well be a town mother compared to him at this point. He’d always been disliked in town, a maligned bastard orphan raised by the local priest. His father had gone to parts unknown, perhaps across the sea. His unmarried mother sent to a convent by her humiliated parents. This fate had been decided for him by his family before he was even born, so in this he felt a great deal of kinship with Carmilla. It wasn't unusual for the towns people to keep their distance from him and snidely whisper behind their hands but it had become a daily occurrence since his dismissal.

He'd dismissed it as gossip, someone had to be on the bottom after all, and he was sure it made them feel better about their lots in life to look down on him. Now he saw though, he'd been in real physical danger this whole time. Word of his meeting with Carmilla had spread, and tainted his already bad reputation. He was a leper. They were going to drive him out of Aljiba, and it didn’t matter what they actually believed, it was sure to happen.

Nobody would give him a loan, not the priest certainly. He was on good terms with the librarian, another old, wizened man who was treated with a kind of benign neglect by Aljiba. Perhaps he could loan Andrei some grosz, but if the state of the library was any indication, he doubted it could do more than postpone the inevitable. In his desperation Andrei even briefly thought of begging the old gravekeeper for his job back.

The cemetery had been a fine job for him, lost in an instant because of Carmilla. He stifled an irrational burst of anger at the strange woman. Yes, she had trespassed and unintentionally cost him his meager way of life but he still found himself sympathizing with her. This was all new and unwelcome to him but he was sure she must have endured worse having her name dreaded by hayseeds for something one of her ancestors may or may not have even done. He wouldn't even be able to see her the next time she visited the cemetery now, unless...

The better part of the day had passed, and Andrei was hungry again as the sun began to set. It wasn't a great plan, but it seemed the only move. Idiot villagers had a way of speaking carelessly and his hearing was not nearly as bad as everyone supposed. Half the people thought he’d always been born under an ill omen, the other half seemed to think he’d made up meeting a countess out of a desperate need for attention. Perhaps he could expose both beliefs for the lies they were.

Andrei set out mid morning the next day in his warmest clothes and his walking stick for protection and, of course, the walking. In his small pack was a waterskin, cheese curds, boiled radish slices and acorn cakes, all he could afford. He was all but broke now. He mostly tried in vain to find someone in town who could tell him more about Laruba than Carmilla's vague directions, but even those willing to speak to him didn't seem to know, until he found an unlikely savior.

"Aye, I know it. A great, dead thing. Several hours outside of town, you go east, past the cemetery. Follow the river, then you go through the wood. It's right there on the other side, you can't possibly miss it."

"Dead thing? What does that mean?" Andrei had rarely spoken to the grave digger, who did his work in the morning and was well out of the cemetery before dusk. He was a middle aged, taciturn sort, living so long under the stigma of his profession he was impervious to social opinion. Grave digging may not have been been respected, but nobody in Aljiba was quite dumb enough to anger the man who’d ultimately put their bones to rest. He was puffing on a foul smelling clay pipe, his eyes squinted at Andrei against the smoke.

"It's best days are long behind it, that's what it means. Why do you want to go there? Not worth your life to go looking for loot. May as well grave rob."

"I'm not going there looking to thieve. I'm just meeting someone."

"Sounds like bad business. No one's lived there for decades, maybe more." Andrei wanted badly to argue this point but seeing as how he knew almost nothing about Laruba, he held his tongue. The digger eyed the knot in the young man’s stick. "Here." He handed Andrei a small, worn wooden handle, which Andrei found flipped into a tarnished knife blade. "If you're meeting someone of this world, you can use that."

"Well...thank you. I'm just going to talk, that's all."

"Yeah. If you find something there, maybe split it with me hey? That knife cost me ten grosz new. Course, that was years back." The digger was still nodding sagely to himself and sucking on his pipe when Andrei departed.

It wasn’t Spring yet, but threatening to be, the air cool but not chill dressed as he was. Andrei trudged past the cemetery and up the road. Water gurgled from the river, on the other shore, impenetrable woods, and towering beyond that the ever present Carpathians. He followed the well traveled road until noon, when it veered sharply right. Continuing forward was a worn path that led into the woods. He’d never ventured this far, always turning back when he saw the great wall of trees barring way. He’d never had a reason before, or he should say, the means, to leave Aljiba proper. It was exciting, and in a way, more terrifying than when he’d thought Carmilla of being a wandering ghost. He wasn’t frightened of monsters, or even animals, but the unknown, stepping out into the abyss without a grosz to his name.

An even more disquieting thought came to Andrei. The only thing worse than if there was something waiting for him in or beyond the wood would be if there was nothing at all. With this in mind, fear melted away under white hot desperation. Two twisted oaks growing crookedly seemed to form an opening into the thick wood, not unlike a mouth, which Andrei strode through.

He walked, only able to roughly tell the time from his steps and the position of the sun. It was almost pointless though. The path was much rougher than the road, and it wound around brush and overgrown trees too large to clear, slowing his progress. Beneath the canopy of bare branches that had barely begun to bud, the sun shone weakly. It had been bright when he entered, but seemed to be clouding now, he really couldn’t tell from here. Rain would be the last thing he needed, turning what was already a difficult trek into a muddy slog.

So Andrei thought of nothing in particular, focusing on keeping his bearings and staying on the path. It was not easy, if it had been cleared once, it had been some time ago. It would have been a more direct route cutting east than the road, which wound around the borders of the sizable forest, but he was starting to see why few would take it. Just the tap, tap, tap of his walking stick to keep him company as he planted it in the ground. From time to time he heard the occasional bird or the crash of something in the brush. When he felt hungry, he stopped and wolfed down most of his lunch, only leaving himself two of the acorn cakes. He’d probably have nothing for the trek back. The walk was monotonous, he felt he’d been walking the entire day, and still the woods had not thinned. Andrei picked up his pace despite his sore legs and aching feet.

Each rest he became keenly aware the sun was getting away from him now, the depths of the woods making it seem even darker. It was becoming harder to make his way. Sometime as he’d walked, withdrawing into himself in boredom, the shadows had become deeper, and the sounds of the wood louder. Some ways off, he heard branches crack, and froze, taking hold of his walking stick, it’s weight comforting him a little. It was real, physical, and it would probably crack even Boian’s thick skull, which was all he could ask for against mortal foes. He walked faster, faster still, trying to make up his lack of progress with the remains of the daylight.

The same trees, again and again, branches like gnarled fingers, once in awhile a spruce or pine. He frowned deeply, looking at his hand. He was fairly pale, but in the shadow his skin was purple, and growing darker all the time. He was no stranger to the night, but he’d always had a lantern when he worked the cemetery. In another hour he probably wouldn’t be able to see himself at all, let alone the path. He wished fervently that he owned a lantern to bring with him, he hadn’t expected it to take this long. He tried to hurry, tripped on an unseen root and fell on the forest floor, cursing.

Now he was finally afraid. He was going to get lost in these woods. Even if he didn’t, what if Carmila wouldn’t see him? Worse, what if Laruba wasn’t even there?

As if to remind Andrei things could always be worse, he heard a distant howl in the night. He stumbled to his feet, retrieved his stick, and picked his way through. It might just be a trick of the low light, but he thought he could see some space between the trees, the evening sky seemed to peek through the gaps. There was distant rustling now, of leaves and pine, but there was no wind. It was getting closer.

He wasn’t lost, not yet, he could still hear the distant sound of the river. Andrei blundered ahead, heedless, tripped twice more, but even with the dying light he could definitely see open sky ahead. Some way beyond he could see no more trees, he would be making his way out soon, finally, and then if nothing else he’d be clear of this godforsaken wood. The rustling was louder, and seemed to be coming from multiple sources. There was a howl, and then in answer another howl, and Andrei stopped, ice water in his veins. Wolves, at least two, not far off, getting closer. The sun was gone now.

Now he ran, heedless, lungs burning, the tips of small branches scraping his face, always his invisible pursuers drawing ever closer. The path had become broader here, no more trees, just darkness and freedom. His ears could distinguish the pad of paws now on the ground, faster, faster…

Until he burst out of the claustrophobic woods, falling to his knees on open ground, the half moon perched in the night sky, unobscured. He wanted to weep in gratitude.

“Thank god! Thank god!” He breathed. Which god he didn’t know. Jehovah. Zeus. Prince Șerban Cantacuzino. It didn’t matter, he didn’t care. He was alive! There was another howl.

No, no, no! He was clear, they couldn’t follow him now! Orange eyes in the dark peered out at him from between the trees. He could just make out the outlines of the wolves’ ears. Four pairs of eyes, shifting, pacing the edge of the treeline.

Andrei backed away, grasping his walking stick in both hands and spared a glance behind him. The path became something large enough for a wagon again, and rising up in the night was a huge, hulking shape that could only have been Laruba Mansion. He could make out a stone fence, chest high, and beyond that a proper wall and wrought iron gate, and beyond that, blessed safety. There were several low growls from the wood, and he turned back to see there were now only two sets of eyes watching him, when teeth sank into his arm and Andrei screamed.

He beat futilely at it as the wolf clamped down on his arm even harder, discovering new levels of pain. Grimacing, he balled his fist and beat it between it’s eyes, hard, willing his fist to crack it’s skull. It yipped, let go and bounded off. A heavy form flew by him as he stumbled back, the other wolf missing it’s lunge. Some of the wolves had silently flanked him, now he counted three. The one who'd bit him snorted, as if clearing it’s nose, then bared teeth at Andrei.

“You dirty, flea bag son of a bitch!” He screamed hoarsely, and swung his walking stick. The wolves circling him scattered. The one that had attacked backed up for another pounce, and this time Andrei caught it on the jaw with the heavy end of his stick. It slid on the ground, whimpered once, then shook it’s head and resumed circling him. Andrei went on the attack, swinging wildly. They scattered again, but not before he managed to catch one in the side. Their jaws snapped at him, tearing the sleeve of his coat. Swinging in a wide circle, he caught another on the side of the head and with this he turned and ran towards the gate.

Andrei felt the air shift and dodged to the side as a wolf tried to pounce on him, then another, missing. They were faster than he was, and not winded, but in his panic he found speed and reflexes he never knew he had. He was almost there, he had only the moonlight but he could see the gate was half open.

Another wolf caught him in the middle of his back, and he tumbled to the ground, teeth rattling in his jaw. He felt teeth and hot breath and slobber as the beast gnashed at his neck. He tried to throw it off, but it was heavy.

Fumbling in his pocket, he grabbed the knife the gravedigger had given him and managed to flip over. The creature tried to rip his throat out but he shifted and it took a large chunk out of his chest instead, making him scream again. The pain washed over Andrei, but before it could paralyze him he plunged the knife deep into the wolf’s eye. It scurried away immediately, leaving the jellied remains on the blade Andrei saw with some satisfaction. Let's see you pounce on someone now fleabag.

He was bleeding profusely now, and he scurried on his hand and legs a few more feet to the gate, as if it would make any difference. His sight was going hazy, he couldn’t make out how many wolves were still circling him. Two, three?

What a stupid way to die he thought, before collapsing on his side. He only hoped it would be quick.

There was the sound of a door opening, and soft footsteps on the gravel. The wolves growled, a different kind of growl, and backed up a few paces, haunches raised. There was some noise Andrei couldn’t make out, and suddenly they were bounding away, tail between legs. With a supreme effort, Andrei turned his head towards the newcomer. Fine leather shoes, laces, stocking feet, and a great swaying white that enveloped his vision like a snowstorm before consciousness fled him.

The first thing he realized when he woke with light streaming in the window was that it must have been early afternoon. The next thing he became aware of was that he wasn’t in his own bed, it was far too large and soft. His hovel didn’t exactly smell of fresh Spring flowers, but the odor couldn’t be ignored, and he sat up, almost gagging. He was laying in what must have been a grand bedroom at one point, but it now smelled of dust and rot. Andrei lay in a fine bed, fit for a noble…twenty years ago. The blankets, which must have been worth more than Andrei was when they had started their lives were moth eaten and ragged. The tattered pillows underneath him likewise managed to justify their existence these days only by sheer number.

Andrei clutched his chest in pain, and his fingers touched a dressing, wrapped over him and tied at his shoulder. He wanted to take it off and inspect his wound, but didn’t feel like he’d be able to redo the dressing, even if his arm didn’t throb. It was similarly dressed.

He got up, shook his head and looked around. He was in Laruba Mansion, had to be, but this wasn’t what he was expecting despite what the grave digger had told him. The room looked like it hadn’t been cared for in some time. Peeling gold gilt on the walls, cobwebs and piles of dust in the corners. Dust in the air, like snow that never fell.

There was some sign it may have been cleaned for him, haphazardly. He felt an uncomfortable push at his groin and tried to open the door, jiggling the brass handle frantically and pushing hard when it wouldn’t open. He thought briefly of breaking it down, when he spied the chamberpot in the corner. Blessed relief.

After he’d emptied his bladder, he tried the door again, carefully. Locked, from the outside. Next to the bed was a nightstand, and on this sat a cup, teapot, and some kind of cake, carefully wrapped against the ever present dust in the room. He poured himself a cup, the tea was long cold, he could taste honey and herbs. He gulped the entire pot, and then devoured the cake. It was flaky, delicious, it also tasted of honey and was filled with some nut he couldn’t identify, a far cry from the awful acorn cakes.

Now that Andrei could think a little, he went through the room methodically. The window was large, he tried opening it to see if climbing out could be an option. The bedroom was on an upper floor, from here he could see an overgrown courtyard, and beyond, the gate. He was three, perhaps more stories up. The window opened, rusty runners protesting as he forced it up. He was able to open it a foot and no more. He could break it he supposed, but it did not look like a climb he could make, even if he was uninjured and so inclined.

A comfortable haze was falling over him, and he lay back down on the bed. He felt like he was sinking, not unpleasantly, into the covers, and realized there must have been something in the tea or cake. He wondered at this, wondered if this all hadn’t been a mistake after all, then chuckled to himself darkly as his wounds physically reminded him how he'd gotten to this point. Why should now be any different?

His eyelids grew heavy, and soon enough he was sleeping again, fitfully.

He was aware of the white, still face watching him in the gloom long before he could wake enough to move or say anything. It smiled unceasingly, smug even. Half dreaming perhaps, he fancied he could see orange wolf eyes behind the mask, but as his vision adjusted Countess Carmilla came into focus. She was dressed once again in white, this time she had a sort of delicate white veil over her head, beneath this, a simple yet elegant dress the color of red wine with sleeves of white. The mask was different, the corners of it's gold lips turned up broadly and what appeared to be gold ivy underneath lashes gave the eyes the appearance of smiling.

“Don’t be afraid.” Said the mask. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up since sundown. How do you feel?” He tried to speak, feeling impossibly tired, his mouth dry. The stink of the room had retreated before Carmilla’s scent, something like lavender. He should be an expert in flowers, working at a cemetery, but it was hard to think straight.

“Better.” He managed to croak. His chest and arm still hurt, but the pain had receded to a dull ache. His dressings had been changed, and he felt something sticky against his skin, like a salve.

“I know you, don’t I?”

“We met at the cemetery. My name’s Andrei.”

“Andrei. I thought it was you. I’m glad to see you, even under the circumstances. Those wolves could have killed you. Can you walk?”

He strained, had two false starts, but finally made it out of bed under his own power. He wobbled, she had to take his hand to steady him, but was able to walk on his own She had two candelabras casting the room in a warm glow, and now under closer inspection he saw with some shock that she was not wearing as much white as he supposed. Her arms and neck were the palest white, bleached of all color, and what he’d taken for a veil was in fact her hair. It fell across her shoulders, seemed to glow in the candle light. He could see no wrinkles or telltale sag on her though.

“Something wrong?” She quizzed him as he was inspecting her arm.

“Just a little dizzy.”

“Are you hungry?” He nodded woodenly. He was ravenous. Carmilla nodded, handed him one of the candelabras and beckoned him to follow out into the dark hallway.

Andrei had the sense that he was stepping out into some great, empty void. Candles cast a feeble light at regular intervals down the hall, and flickered an interminable distance away across the abyss. The same rot smell from the bedroom pervaded the dark. He followed the slender back down the hall, only able to make out Carmilla, patches of stone wall and the worn, threadbare carpet beneath his feet.

“How long was I asleep?”

“An entire day.”

“That tea?”

“Medicine to help you sleep and heal. Mind the stairs. As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, Laruba Mansion is in dire need of repairs.”

The countess stepped lightly near the wall, so he followed, descending the stairs gingerly. He used the candlelight to plan each step, the last thing he wanted was another tumble. Despite that, one of his feet nearly scuttered into empty space, and he had to hug the wall until he'd cleared several more steps. Carmilla descended without slowing in that way one can knowing every inch of their own home.

She led him through what must have been an open hall, yet he still barked his shins on a low table. There was a crackling fireplace casting enough light for Andrei to make out a dining table. The linen on it was musty but in better shape than the bedspread, Andrei saw there was a single place set. She gestured and Andrei sat down apprehensively. There was a bowl, a crust of bread, a goblet of what he took to be wine. The maddening scent of chicken and herbs wafted to him. He wanted to dig right in.

“So…about that tea…” Carmilla chuckled lightly, her chin resting on the tops of her hands. He saw that her nails were long and red.

“There’s nothing in it this time, I swear to you.” He was a guest here, she could have left him for dead on her front porch, from what he’d heard, many nobles would have. The dilapidated mansion disturbed him though, and she’d still not removed her mask yet. “Don't be nervous. Go on, eat.”

At any rate, he was too tired, too hungry and too poor to do more than accept her persistent strangeness. He picked up a fork, took a bite of the chicken. It was cooked in a creamy broth, and he closed his eyes, tasting mushroom, carrot, onion. Seasoned with pepper, and something he’d never tasted. Paprika maybe. It was lukewarm now, but it was the most delicate, most delicious thing he’d ever tasted outside festival. The bread and wine were also of high quality. Carmilla merely watched him eat for a time, now she shifted in her seat, leaning on one arm, as if sizing him up.

“Now that you’ve slept and fed, hopefully you feel well enough to answer. What were you doing on my grounds Andrei?” He took another sip of the exquisite wine and stopped himself from drinking more. He hoped the grave digger’s assumption of looting wasn’t the one she was making.

“I came to see you. You told me where you lived, and I thought now was a good time for a visit.”

“You braved the woods at night and the opinions of the town to see me? After only meeting me once?” Her tone suggested she didn’t entirely believe him. The roles had reversed, this time he was the innocent interloper who had to explain himself.

“Yes. You seem like a very…” His eyes swept the shadow and settled on the unnaturally white woman wearing a mask in her own moldering home. “A very interesting person.”

“I must have made quite an impression.” And continue to he thought. “Tell me something Andrei, and be honest please. What did they tell you of me in town?”

“The grave keeper thought you were an evil spirit, or perhaps a demon.” She tapped a red nail against her mask thoughtfully.

“Do you believe that?”

“No. No you’re not a spirit, we’ve already established that, and I don’t think you’re a demon.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, I don't believe in demons, and it would be a much more interesting world if you were, wouldn’t it? That’s just not the way things are.”

“I see.” The quiet dragged on, so he took another sip, trying to put voice to his thoughts.

“If you were a demon, that would mean there’s a Hell. If there’s a Hell, then there would have to also be a Heaven wouldn’t there?"

"I suppose."

"Life isn’t simple little fairy tales though, is it? Someone comes back from the grave, it turns out they were never really dead in the first place, just examined by an incompetent physician. A fortune teller predicts my future by preying on my gullibility and speaking in sweeping generalities. There’s nothing new under the sun. There are no miracles, even dark ones.”

“That’s a depressing way to see the world for someone as young as you, don’t you think?”

“The sooner one realizes it, the better one copes.” She shifted again, and there was another long pause.

“You’re a bit interesting yourself Andrei. You must be very brave.”

“It's not bravery, I'm just not afraid of something that isn't there, and never will be.”

“That's a good philosophy to have. What else have you heard about me?” He mopped the remnants of broth with the last of the bread, it was too good to waste even a drop.

“Not much. Can I give my compliments to the chef?”

“I’ll pass them on.”

“I’m sorry, I haven’t thanked you yet for caring for me, feeding me, let alone seeing me. I know I could have been just some beggar at your doorstop, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing. In the old days, a noble without noblesse oblige was as frowned on as one without lands.” He must have looked lost, because she clarified: “A kind of courtesy to those of lesser station.” He nodded, as if in agreement, but wondered if her charitable nature might be the cause of some of her troubles.

“Well, Andrei, you’ve managed to avoid asking me any awkward questions so far, when I know you must be bursting with them. Or revealed the real reason for your visit. Quite well. You’d make a fine noble.”

He flushed, finished the wine, and cleared his throat. She was still peering at him with those black eyes, tapping the nail.

“You must want to see me pretty badly to brave woods and wolves, all this way to see someone like me. You must want something. Come on, out with it then.”

“Countess Carmilla…” He began as respectfully as he could. “You know I worked at the cemetery. I told you what the grave keeper thinks. I lost my job, because of your visit..."

There was a contemptuous hissing intake of breath from her, as one might when they see some animal crushed by a carriage on the road.

"Not that I blame you at all!" He continued quickly, unsure if it had been for him or his misfortune. "But the old man thinks you’re a demon or such, and half the town think you don’t even exist. Something I made up, but that didn’t stop them from treating me like I’d pledged myself to Mircalla, returned from the dead.”

“I see…” She said. She sounded disappointed. “So maybe you think I owe you something? You came here for money?”

“I didn’t come here to beg for money!” He protested hotly. “I’ve been under a pall since that night. No one will give me work, not even the kind fit for simpletons. So I ask-“

“For a ‘loan’ perhaps?” She, shifted, the mask’s wide smile the only indication that she didn’t find him the most tedious thing in the country.

“No! Please do me the courtesy of listening, instead of answering things I haven't said. I want you to come back to town with me.”

“What?” Her head cocked to the side, he wished he could see her expression.

“Come to town with me. Speak to the grave keeper, in the light of day, without your mask, and he’ll have to see you’re just flesh and blood like us. The rest will know I’m not a liar, and maybe I could get my old job back.”

She stared at him, head tilted in that curious way, and he got the sense she was going to say something biting, but instead she laughed. It was good humored, not derisive, as if he'd told a particularly clever joke. She wiped one of the eye holes, maybe of a tear, and this made her seem more human to him in that candle lit island in the murk.

“It might improve your reputation in town as well if they could see you just as a reclusive noble and not some blood bathing creature from the grave.” He added, smiling lightly, and she collapsed into another gale of laughter. It was musical, like silver bells. He knew he should be angry, but despite it being his personal situation, he liked making her laugh.

“That’s-…oh, you’ll excuse me. I’m not laughing at you, it’s just, you’re so-so earnest.” She wheezed a little, then made a small sound of embarrassment and straightened, seeming to regain her composure. “Excuse me. That was uncalled for, I apologize. That’s a- a very respectable thing to ask.” She snorted once more, before calming. “So, let me see if I understand. You want me to come to town to you, prove to this old crazy I’m not a ghoul, so you can get your job back? That’s all you want, correct?” He nodded.

“There’s a few problems with that. First, I have no desire to visit there by the light of day where any witch burning peasant could see me and make an assumption. That should have been apparent from our first meeting. Second, I have no desire to prove my existence. If anything, that makes things easier for me out here. The last thing I need outside my beloved Laruba is a mob think it’s run down state means they can put it to the torch." With each point, she tapped another finger down with one of those long, amazingly red nails.

"Third, their comprehension issues are their own. It would be against my principals to have to “prove” myself to anyone. Fourth, and finally.” She’d made it to her pinkie now. “Just because you have the good taste not to beg for money doesn’t mean other's wouldn't. That’s another crowd outside my gates I don't need. Life is tough enough as is, thank you.” Carmilla had taken him apart effortlessly, Andrei agreed, but after all this, he still had to try.

“Not even as a favor to me for letting you pay your respects to your ancestor after hours? What about nobles oblige?”

“Noblesse.” She corrected. “No, the way I see it, I wouldn’t be doing you any sort of favor, even if that old man did return you that pointless existence weeding a graveyard.” Andrei sighed deeply, defeated. He knew he had neither the words or persuasiveness to argue the points. It was a new, unwelcome feeling.

“Thank you then, for the care, the meal, and the company. I’ll go back then at first light if that’s alright with you.” He rose, walked to her side of the table, and offered his hand in what he was hoped was a parting gesture of respect. The long fingers curled around his hand, squeezed gently, and his breath caught a little, enjoying the pressure. She looked at the hand a moment curiously, then back at Andrei. In the light, he could just make it out the shine of her eyes.

“Wait here.” She said, taking her candelabra and wandering off into darkness, and then he was completely alone in the dim dining room.

Entombed. When he'd worked at the cemetery, he hadn't appreciated, but it was apt. Entombed. He couldn't say how long he waited, but when Carmilla came back, she bore a small box with a pearl finish.

“What did your job at the cemetery pay you?”

“Three grosz a day.” He answered, and she began to sift through the box, he heard the distinct clink of coins. He was about to protest her fobbing him off with a handout, when she said: “Three, times seven, times…fifty two. Let’s call it a thousand.” Andrei’s math skill without paper and quill ended where one hundred began, but Carmilla calculated it instantly.

“That’s not necessary.”

“I don’t have any grosz it seems.” She murmured, as if to herself. “How many grosz in a ducat these days I wonder? Would gulders do?”

“I wouldn't…maybe you could just write me a letter explaining the situation?”

“That's ridiculous. How many of those townsfolk can even read?” She asked, and he shut up. It was a fair point.

“Much less for you to carry anyway. I think one hundred ought to do.” She nodded, satisfied, and then transferred a velvet sack to Andrei’s hand. It felt very heavy, he'd rarely seen a ducat, and never a gulder before.

“Countess, thank you so much, but I really can’t accept this.”  
  
“Nonsense. I’d rather just solve your problem for the time being than make one for myself inking a letter. Noblesse oblige.” He had been holding the sack awkwardly in his hand, like a spider that may bite, now she pushed the hand back into his coat, as if it offended her. “For allowing me to honor my ancestor, and making a lady laugh in her solitude.” She glanced about, suddenly disturbed. “Come now, the morning is almost upon us, you said you had to leave.”

Andrei hadn’t noticed, but the darkness was beginning to recede. She took him by the hand and led him rapidly to the front door, enough that the pain flared in his chest.

“I’m still a bit sore, perhaps I could rest awhile longer? There’s no hurry.”

“Rest on my porch if you like. We’re not far.”

“I’d really enjoy talking to you further Countess, it was a pleasure well worth the walk.”

“And you have that far to walk back if you don’t want to catch the wolves again. Another time now.”

Their pace quickened. Some of the candles had gone out now, but he was beginning to make out decaying tapestries and crumbling masonry. Carmilla opened the door, and gestured at the early morning sky. He’d seen enough of to know he was no more than an hour from sunup.

“I trust you’re well enough now to make your way back in the daylight hours. Stay on the path and be clear of the woods before evening and you’ll not have to deal with wolves. Here.” Like a magician, she produced a parcel of the cakes and shoved them roughly in his arm.

“This money-“ He began to protest.

“Is nothing to me. Take it. If you really feel beholden to me, perhaps you’ll visit me again.”

“How will I send word?”

“If the gate is open, you can knock on the door. If the gate is closed I’m still sleeping.” She glanced up at the sky, then over her shoulder. “Just come at dusk, without wolves on your heels please.” Behind her it had become bright enough that he could faintly make out the staircase they’d descended. It was a wreck.

“Thank you so much, I hope-“

“I’m sorry I can’t walk you to the wood.” Carmilla interrupted, speaking rapidly. “I’m aweary. I stayed up most of the night watching you. Goodbye, safe travels.” She abruptly closed the door, and Andrei was left blinking at the heavy knocker. He walked some ways to the woods, and then turned back.

In daylight, Laruba Mansion looked like it had not been lived in for hundreds of years. The walls were overgrown with ivy, and the courtyard with tall weeds. One of the turrets had collapsed on itself, leaving a gaping hole where rain and snow surely made their way in. He wondered again, had he really slept there? Had any of it been real? It didn't feel like it could have outside in the early morning.

He opened the sack, removing one gulder. It glittered golden even in the break of day. It had come from inside Laruba just as he had. Curious, he bit it as he’d once seen a trader do. It hurt his teeth, it was real enough.

The way back was easier now that he knew exactly how far he had to walk. His chest gave him trouble, but as long as he didn’t push hard on his feet it wasn’t so bad. As he walked, he consider the nightmare of the wolves and the dreamlike encounter with the Countess. What did it mean?

The obvious answer was that Countess Carmilla was a vampire. He laughed at that, long and loud until his chest hurt again and he had to stop.

Things like vampires didn’t exist, they were tales to frighten or amuse. He also didn't believe in beasties in the night or Scylla and Charybdis, or even in Hell, because if he did, he might have to believe in heaven and God as well. If God had something to say to him, Andrei felt, he would come down and say it instead of dropping hints like some vacuous girl at festival dance. And if there was no God anyway, there'd be plenty of time to be afraid when he was dead. The truth was always a disappointment, always.

No, the correct answer was that she was touched. Intelligent surely, but touched all the same. One didn’t live in a ruin like that if one was well. Or maybe he was making assumptions, just like a small minded villagers would. She had given him quite a bit of money freely. Maybe the state of her tattered mansion had more to do with her careless generosity than her eccentricity. He’d once heard of a rich woman who’d given away all of her wealth, to cats no less, leaving her children little inheritance. An extreme case of wants before needs.

She'd been in a hurry to show him out before daylight in an effort to save herself embarrassment. She was a Countess and her mansion was a crumbling ruin. Yes, now that he thought of it, it made sense. He was still hesitant to accept the money. It made him feel like a beggar but also from what he’d seen of the mansion, maybe the Countess wasn't as wealthy as she supposed.

Leaving her alone in that place, he thought, it wasn’t right, but he could do nothing more at the moment. No, surely she had servants. He couldn’t picture Carmilla plucking and cooking a chicken somehow.

The mask though. Was it just another veneer slapped over something withered and corrupt? The light had been poor in the mansion, but he'd been certain her hair was silver. Yet full and sleek though, at least it had seemed it. The hand that had taken his had been smooth and soft though, exciting. As for her voice, it was rich with maturity and experience…but not old. He pondered it for what seemed far too short a time before the familiar gates of the cemetery greeted him in the distance.

“This is a large sum of money." The lender was fat, well dressed, and wouldn't have given Andrei the time of day before, but shiny gulders had a way of changing one’s demeanor. "I’ll have to report it to the Polgarmeister.”

“You could do that.” Andrei replied, sipping his drink. It WAS a lot of money he thought, and the glass from the lender’s private reserve was well worth letting the money lender appreciate that fact as well. “However if some reason were found that the ownership of that money had to change hands, I’d have to drink my troubles away at the tavern." The lender cocked an eyebrow, and Andrei took an exaggerated sniff of the drink. He felt this was a good place to channel Carmilla. "There’d be most of the day to tell anyone who would listen that investing money with you is just an invitation to have it confiscated. And if there were more money like this, I'd have to bring it to some other lender, wouldn't I?”

“Ha, ha, you misunderstand me young man.” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, a nervous tic of his. “It’s just that it’s so unusual to see these denominations, and so old besides. Just a formality. You know, the Polgarmeister is always interested in helping those with ambition and coin grow their assets. A rising tide raises all ships. Where did you say you got it again?"

“I found it buried in the forest.” The lender stared blankly at the young man, who in response polished his fingernails on his shirt. “I’ve always been lucky.”

“Well, you understand, if you invest with me I can pay you a dividend of say, some five percent of the sum a month? Just to show I am fair, if the Polgarmeister approves, I’ll even pay you fair price for these gulders’ value as curios too. Say...twenty five hundred grosz altogether?”

Andrei nodded, not particularly happy, just accepting adequate offer, but inside he wanted to scream with joy. That was more than two years of pay at the cemetery. He might even be able to live off just the interest if he was careful.

“Of course, one must pay taxes, even on a find such as this. There would also be a modest one time fee for opening an account with me.” He looked speculatively at the young man, and this time Andrei didn’t have to pretend to be underwhelmed.

_Later, when he had given the town it’s share of the money and paid off his landlord and the priest, he was left with something a little over a thousand grosz. This was still better than a year’s pay, and Andrei could stretch it far, especially now that he was clear of his immediate debts. He invested eight hundred with the lender, the interest would be enough to sate his creditors for awhile. It was not an end to his troubles, but the winter at least. Buds had begun to turn into small white blooms, and they made him think of the strange Countess. He wondered how the forest would look soon in bloom, and decided he didn’t need to wait to wonder._

**Author's Note:**

> Authors notes: Well I wanted to get a bit more out before Halloween, but at least it's a chapter. It really seemed to drag but once I got Andrei in the woods it flew by fast. I wanted the encounter in the mansion to be more substantial, but even promising myself this story would be shorter I already topped 10K words, that’s the cutoff. I’ll talk more about the characters and genesis of this story next chapter if you’re not bored out of your gourd. I’m drawing a little bit on the Netflix series and the literary Carmilla, but I’m writing her as her own character. This is more than 200 years after Dracula’s Curse, so it’s possible it could be the same Carmilla. Oh, and I feel I should give fair warning, there’s no sex until the 4th chapter, so if you’re waiting for that, it’ll be awhile.
> 
> Next chapter: More going on now that we’re past setup. Strange happenings are abundant at Laruba Mansion, but Andrei finds himself drawn back to the Countess again. In the midst of Andrei’s sudden wealth he finds new enemies and new allies in town. Andrei learns more about the Karnstein family line, and reveals something of his line the Countess finds very interesting


End file.
